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SPRING BLOSSOMS. 


Page II. 


" Can we have a few posies 


Miss Betsey ? ’ ’ 



-p^'i 

-DSstS 


Copyright 1895 by the 
American Baptist Publication Society 


^OTE 

It gives the publishers especial pleasure to 
introduce to our readers, by this svVeet little story, 
one who to the general public needs no introduc- 
tion. are sure that it Will arouse keen 

e)^pectation in regard to the larger story to be 
issued by us from JV|rs. i)ick,inson’s pen in the 
coming autumn. 


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SPRIiNG BLOSSOMS 


Out of shadow into sunlight^ out of wintry frost and 
chill 

Into spring-time light and glory ^ into peace serene and 
still. 

From the care and grief and heart-break, from the 
cruel growing old, 

From the wanderifig on the mountains to the tender 
Shepherd' s fold. 


I 


Childish Solicitors 


4 


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4 



SPRING BLOSSOMS 


We have a feW posies^ just a feW, JMiss 
? — me and Patsey — We Wants to help 


to regelate the church/' 

regulate the church? The church had 
better set to Work^ to regulate you, poor neglected 
heathen that you are!" thought Betsey Berkins, 
as she came doWn from the porch to the gate at 
which the tWo tangled and smutty-faced children 
Were Waiting. 

^ery tall, and Very flat, and Very straight, Was 
JVliss Betsey — what the neighbors called an up- 
and-doWn Woman, only there Was considerably more 
up than down to both her character and her form. 


n 


^er small, round head, shaped like a Walnut, 
supported her thin hair, laid in tWo smooth plas- 
ters that ended in a tiny ball behind. T^he 
cheeks Were thin, and so Were the lips, that shut 
together With a severe sort of snap, characteristic 
of pocket-purses in the face of a book agent. 

0ose-mouthed ” they called her too — ^^up-and- 
doWn and close-mouthed.’’ T^'he first guality, 
whatever it meant, could be forgiven, but in a 
small village community the second certainly neVer 
could, which accounts^ perhaps, for the fact that 
JVliss Betsey Was not a favorite in the toWn of 
Burke. 

(Certainly the tWo raigged children, only one 
of whom had Ventured inside the fence, looked at 
her more in fear than in loVe as she approached, 
and Betsey got doWn fromi the gate , on which he 


13 


had irreverently thought of taking a swing, and 
J\orah, a blue eyed, curly-headed little ibernian, 
had to take more than one look at the window, 
bright With its pots of plants, to give her courage 
not to turn and run. 

you Want some floWers, do you? and 
to help decorate the church? J\ oW I’m not 

going to give them to you for that purpose. You 
can have some to carry home, but 1 don’t belieVe 
in littering up the house of (2od, and making a 
picnic of the Worship of the JMost ^igh.” 

JMorah stared hard at her With round, aston- 
ished eyes, and l?atsey availed himself of the 
momentary pause to give the post a k,ick and 
himself just one good swing. 

0et off that gate, l^atsey Bryan ; and you, 
eNorah, run along home, unless you Want to come 


14 


in and take some of my geranium blooms to your 
mother.” 

^^^he Would send ’em right oVer to the churchy 
she Would,” said l^atsey from behind the post. 

@h, all the children’s going to bring some,” 
said J\|orah ; ^^and We ha\?en’t got any, and m.y 
Sunday-school teacher said We could all help 
regelate ” 

ll)ecorate, you mean,” said Betsey, and her 
lips gaVe a decided snap. ^^V^ell, noW, the good 
Lford don’t require any such popery and nonsense, 
and you Would better haV’e stayed at a Sunday- 
school where they Would haVe looked after your 
immortal souls.” 

^^V^e likes our neW Sunday-school. JMiss 
©Ison, she bees orful nice teacher,” said Batsey 
from behind his post ; but JMiss Betsey had 


15 


reached the door and shut it behind her^ lea\?ing 
the children, in the glow of the early spring even- 
ing, outside. 

‘^V^hy didn’t you keep still, Patsey ? ” said 
the disappointed little J\lorah, seizing her brother’s 
hand, and starting upon a run up the plank, side- 
walk. '^§he Was just a-goin’ to gi\?e me a lot, 
and now — and noW all the other children Will 
bring some, and We ha';en’t got any.” 

Don’t care,” said the emphatic Datsey; 
bees goin’ to break in JVliss Betsey’s Windy and 
run down to the church With tWo whole flowerpots 
full.” 

no! that’s awful Wielded,” said J\lorah, 
guite out of breath; ^^and what Would the teacher 


say 


what Would the teacher say?” 


I6 

peated a playful Voice, as a lady stepped from old 
Betty Baldwin’s thread-and-needle store on to the 
Walk^ just in time to catch the last Words. 

^^©h, teacher,” said little J\lorah, eagerly, 
while Batsey broke from a trot into a Walk and 
drew as near as he could; ^^We Wanted to help 
to trim the church for Easter, as you said We 
might, and We Went to get JMiss Betsey to give 
us some floWers. §he has got whole pots and 

pots of ’em in her Windys, and, and ” 

^^^nd Batsey, here, said he Would break her 
windows; Was that it?” 

^^Yes, ma’am,” said Bat, shamefacedly; ^^but I 
Wasn’t goin’ ter.” 

^^J\Io, of course not, it Was a foolish thing 
to sciy,” but her hand softened the rebuke With a 
gentle touch on his ragged sleeVe — and then by 


17 


Way of e>^cuse, he added, ^^She said she Wouldn’t 
give us none.” 

she Wants them all for her friends, 
no doubt,” said the lady, kindly. ^^She is Very 
kind in sending them to people who are sick.” 

^^J\lo; it Wasn’t that,” said J\lorah, timidly; 
^^’tWas cos We Was Baptises.” 

little spasm of merriment convulsed the 
lady’s face for a moment, but she said kindly: 
“Well, never mind why it Was; there are plenty 
of lovely flowers; the crocuses are out in our 
garden, and there are already anemones, and a 
few violets in the Wood. You shall get a little 
cup of those for me, Batsey, i f you like.” -And 
the boy’s freckled face broke into a smile. 

She kept them With her till they reached the 
door of the little gray cottage that served 


as a 



i8 

parsonage and nestled close to the side of the 
smart little Wooden churchy which looked Very neW 
and bright in comparison to the other rather dingy 


sanctuaries of the toWn. It Was rather a pert 
and World ly-lool^ing little edifice, it must be con- 
fessed, With an aggressively ornamental toWer, and 
what the snifty and scornful Burkites called 


19 


^^red and yaller trimmin’s.” 9\ltogether the 
erection of the neW churchy which oWed its 
ence chiefly to the fact that a feW families in sym- 
pathy with its forms had chosen the picturescjue 
Burke hillsides for their summer homes, Was re- 
garded as rather a religious impertinence, With its 
more modern, Wide-aWake Ways, and an intimation 
that the old churches, in which the townspeople 
slept through droWsy Sunday afternoons. Were not 
adapted to city sinners. 

The neW-fangled meetin’ -house,” Was 'looked 
at askance by the elder and Puritan elemient in 

the town, and great Was the dismay when many 
of ,4l^e young people began going to evening ser- 
Vicef^ first 'to hear the music, and afterward to 
hear the sermon, both of which they unhesitatingly 
declared they liked. 


But if the average Burkite looked With disap- 
proval upon the little church” in which the 

people seemed to lack the old Buritan sobriety^ 
JMiss Betsey Berkins regarded it With a feeling 
nearly akin to hate. She had a heart, JMiss Ber- 
kins had, but nobody knew hoW big and soft and 
tender it Was, for she shut it up With a snap 
whenever anybody tried to look inside. She had 
not only a heart, but hobbies, and a loVable Weak- 
ness or two thrown in. She Was all alone in 
the old Berkins homestead, all alone in the World, 
indeed, e^Ccept for her young half-brother J^orace, 
just finishing his studies at BroWn. J^orace 
Was her great Weakness, but she had tWo little ones 
besides. @ne Was her loVe for the Pirst ©rtho- 
do)^ ©hurch, and the other, though she Would neVer 
have owned it. Was a loVe for little children. 


21 

Por J^orace, her hobby number one, she 
Would have given her life, and she meant to give 
him her fortune, all e)^cept a slice which she had 
set aside in her Will for hobby number tWo, the 
Pirst ©rthodo)^ ©hurch, and a further slice which 
she held on to With a secret purpose to carry out 
her hobby number three. She meant by-and-by 
to make the old homestead into an orphan asylum, 
and to have the children of her adoption reared 
in the faith of hobby number tWo; and here Was 
this impertinent little church reared upon the Very 
ne^t corner to her house; and here Were the poor 
children from whom she meant to elect her flock 
qladly joining the neW church choir and singing 

qJ 0/ q) qJ qJ qJ 

aWay like cherubs. pVen little J\lorah and 
patsey, tWo children whose mother oWed JMiss 
Betsey the Work that kept them in food and 


clotheS; and half the time the money that paid the 
rent; — J\lorah and Patsey^ whom she had had up 
at her oWn house to teach them the catechism, 
and to whom she had gi\?en Sunday frocks and 
jack^ets that they might come to her class at the 
Pirst @rthodo)C Sunday-school, — here they Were, 
the ungrateful pair, swinging on her gate and telling 
her they liked the neW school, and Wanted her 
posies to trim the neW church. 

J\|o Wonder she shut her lips and shut her 
door and shut her heart that night and felt as if 
the powers of darkness Were all abroad in the land. 
J\Io Wonder that her first visit upon . the aged 
pastor and his sprightly daughter — a Visit she Would 
never have made had not ^orace been at home 
for Vacation, and insisted that she should go With 
him — had terminated her efforts to be neighborly. 


23 


She Wes resolved that she Would not be 
neighborly^ and all the more because ^ orace had 
evidently resolved that he Would. V^hat her 
brother found in the pastor s gay young daughter 
that made him like to go and sit chatting, evening 
after evening, on ^^that finicky, aggressiVe-looking 
piazza,” Was a mystery to the old Woman who 
loVed him best. V^hat J\1 orah and [?atsey found 
that day vvhen, truant from her class, they put 
their Vagrant heads inside the neW Sunday-school, 
that kept them going every Sunday thereafter. Was 
equally a puzzle to the mortifed and piqued old 
soul. She Would not try to Win them back, not 
she; she only shut her thin lips closer and spent 
more of her heart upon her foWers that made 
the wide, loW Windows a Very garden of Easter 
bloom. She lingered a moment oVer her plants 


24 


to-night, pickling off a dead leaf here and there, 
with fingers that trembled a little; for doWn at 
the bottom of her hungry old heart Was a Weak,- 
ness that Would ha\?e liked to call the little 

Bryans in, and scrub Batsey’s face and give 

J\|orah’s curls a twist, and feed them both With 
the hot muffins that Were just browning for her 
solitary tea. It Was not altogether that she 
longed to see these little ones properly brought 
up, and in due time brought Within the safe shelter 
of her ^‘fold,’’ but it Was the human hunger of 
her Woman’s heart, deprived of its heritage of 

mother-loVe and care. But she did not know 

her oWn need, and grimly resented the fact that 
Batsey and J\Iorah should be so blind to their 
best good, while she took her solitary muffn and 
sent aWay the unrelished cup of tea. 





«Ancl meantime, oVer at the cozy tea table of 
the parsonage, J^elen ©Ison Was chatting aWay 


in the cheeriest manner to her graVe old father, 
of whose widowed days she Was the brightness 


26 


and joy. ^ it seems so strange^ papa/’ she 
said; ^^that she has such an aversion to us, when 
everybody says she is so good and kind. 1 got 
a little clue to it to-day when 1 Went to see the 
Bnycm baby. T^he child seems Very ill.” 

^^V^hat is the illness, daughter? you 

sure you are not running a risk to go among the 
poor without knowing whether their diseases are 
contagious or not?” 

“©h, I fa ncy it’s only the feVer that comes 
with the teeth; papa; and 1 haVe always done it 
since 1 used to go With dear mamma, when [ Was 
only a child, and nothing eVer happened to me yet. 
'And little J\orah seemed so disconsolate that 1 
could not resist the child’s blue eyes,” 

^^V^ell, what did you say you learned there 
of our good neighbor oVer the Way?” 


27 


that she has been most kind to the 
Brycms \A?hen the father Was not at his Work, 
and obliged to go to the hospital, She paid the 
rent, and she gaVe the children all their Sunday 
clothes, it seems, and yet their mother said they 
did not like to go to the Sunday-school; and she 
told me that JVliss Betsey got together a mission 
class of the poor children, and held it in her 
Sunday-school herself but only succeeded in mak- 
ing the children half afraid of her. 'And she 
said J\Iorah and Batsey Would run aWay in the 
fields when they got a chance, and Were on just 
such a truant trip as that when the music tempted 
them to look in upon us. V/'ell, 1 captured the 
little rogues, and they seemed such bright little bits 
of humanity, that I haVe held on to them eVer 
since, ne\?er knowing hoW 1 had trespassed.” 


28 


The minister laughed a little softly, and said: 

V^ell, they are a pair of Volatile little J^iber- 
nians, and | presume if there Was a Roman 
(Catholic church here they Would not stay With 
you long. V^hat do you mean to do, return your 
stolen pupils? ©ught you not to send them 
back ? ” 

^ Ratsey Wouldn’t go, I fear; yet I confess I 
feel a little as 1 should if tWo of JV|iss Rerki ns’ 
sheep had strayed into our lot. Do you know 
they had the impudence to go and ask her for her 
beautiful floWers to decorate the church?” 

ain the pastor laughed. ^^They are all 
unconscious, in their childish absence of all sense 
of obligation, that they ought to carry floWers to 
her.” 

'^J\loW that’s a happy thought, papa. You 


29 


always do see the sweetest Ways out of all my 
blunders. @f course We Will send her floWers, 
and the children shall carry them.” 

It Was yet three days to Easter, but sturdy 
little Eatsey took no note of time. ^e remem- 
bered that his beautiful teacher, who spoke gently^ 
and smiled on him, and stroked his curly head, — 
yes, who kissed him one day when his face Was 
clean, — had said that there Were Violets in the 
Wood, and aWay he Went, hand in hand With 
J\Iorah, one morning, to see if he could not bring 
the treasures home. 

It Was a damp and chilly day, and the Water 
of the half-melted snoW made its Way through the 
holes in Eatsey’s copper-toed shoes. ^is mother, 
poor soul! bending alternately oVer the Washtub 
and the cradle of her fretful baby, only heeded 


30 


that the children Were going to do something JVIiss 
elen had told them they could do, and she did 



not think 





peered at the parsonage door, Wet an 
and holding in their chubby red hand 


d bedraggled, 
s a few little 


31 


clusters of arbutus and pale Wood-Violets, ^ elen 
could hardly resist chiding them or their mother 
for allowing such an o^pedition on such a day. 

The Water Was oozing out of l^atsey’s boots, 
and J\lorah’s frock bore traces of her scrambles 
along the muddy roadsides. ^elen dared not’ 
keep them in their Wet clothing, but she fled to 
the kitchen, and filled their little hands With food, 
and bade them run home and tell mother, JVliss 
^elen said put them at once into dry clothes. 

^^9\in’t got none, only JV|iss Betsey's,” said 
Botsey, stoutly, ^^and she don’t like us to Wear 
them only Sunday.” 

Suddenly reminded of JVliss Berki ns, J4elen 
said gravely: ^^J\loW, Batsey, you don’t seem to 
know hoW good JVliss Betsey has been to you. 
She gave you so many nice things. IDon’t you 


32 


Want to take up this basinet of nice floWers to 
her and show her hoW much you think of her?” 

^^J\lo, ma’am/’ said l?atsey^ stoutly, while 
J\|orah hung her head. 

“Well, I Want you to do it, Patsey. It 
will please me if you do. V^hen you are all 

dressed nice and clean and dry, you run up to 
JVliss Betsey, like a grateful child, and tell her 

they are the first, the Very first of the floWers, 

right out from under the snoW.” 

''Got ’em for you,” grumbled Batsey. 

'^Yes, dear, and this is what I Want you to 
do with them. You got them to shoW you 
loVed me. JNIoW, I Want them to go oVer to 

JMiss Betsey to show her We loVe her.” 

^^You loVe her! truly, truly?” said J\lorah, 
with wide-open eyes. 


33 


yes; when I think hoW k^ind she is to 
yoU; and your mother, and the dear little sick baby, 
hoW can 1 help loving her? Don’t you remem- 
ber the nice broth she sent for the baby?” 

said J\Iorah; ^Mots; big bowlful. 
V^e had some, Patsey and me.” 

“V^ell, did you ever do* anything for her?” 

^^J\lo, ma’am,” said Datsey; ^^she ain’t sick, 
and she’s big.” 

^^But she Wants us to loVe her, all the same,” 
said Y^elen; ^^and noW the nicest Way is just to 
take her our poster floWers.” 

^^But We Won’t haVe any for the church,” 
said J\Iorah, ^^and it’s awful sguelchy up there in 
the Woods.” 

^^Yes; and you must not go again. There 
will be plenty of floWers, and you shall haVe 


34 


some; but these^ 1 am afraid — these might not 
be fresh by Saturday, and We cannot begin at 
the church till then.’’ 

^^V^ell, then, come along, J\lorah. Treacher 
don’t Want ’em. I’ll giVe ’em to JMiss Betsey, 
1 guess.” 

^^That’ s a nice boy, Batsey; noW run along.” 

But the boy lingered, a disappointed look in 
his clear eyes, and suddenly ^elen, divining his 
little sensitive heart, drew him up close to her 
side and gaVe him a squeeze and a kiss. 

^^You are a dear little man, and you shall 
bring me just the prettiest floWers of all on 
Easter day. J\IoW, you see if a good angel 
don’t bring you some to give to me.” 
aWay he Went trotting through the mud. 


11 

Love’s Offering 




Tp 


W as 


nearing 
twilight when 




I 


37 





38 


urC; all fresh but the copper-toed shoes^ which 
had dried by the fire and Were twisted into the 
queerest of shapes, Went trudging in at JV|iss 
Betsey’s gate. ©ne hand grasped a little tin 
pail, in which, half droWned in Water, the feW 
faint blossoms lay. T^he firelight Was bright be- 
hind the geranium ‘^bloWs,” and seemed to make 
their great scarlet masses of bloom fairly dance 
in the sight of the boy. ^e rather Wished 
J^orah had come, though his mother Was tired 
and had needed her to amuse the baby, for behind 
the geraniums he saW JVIiss Betsey’s face'. She 
saw him too, and Went and opened the door. 

^^S'pose you Want some more of that broth, 
Batsey ? [s the baby Worse ? ©ut in your 
best clothes too, this rainy, drizzly night! That 
shows hoW much good it does to try to help. 


39 


a 


a I 


(Dust e)^actly like pouring Water into a sieve. 
Speaks up, child] what did your mother send you 
after?” 

^ J\Ioth in’,” answered [?atsey. With a cough. 
(Doodness, child, what do you mean? Why, 
you are as hoarse as a croW. What did you 
come for?” 

^^’(2os We loVed yer, and these is the first 
posies that’s bloWed,” and again the child coughed 
and shivered, and sat doWn on the edge of the 
nearest chair. 

^^Patsey Bfycin, has your mother gone ravin’ 
distracted to send you out With a cough like that? 

it’s twenty years since J^orace had the 
croup; but | should knoW that sound if 1 heard 
it in (Canaan ! ” 

^^JVjother didn’t,” said the boy, wheezing Wea* 


40 


rily and struggling for breath. “T^'eacher did. 
ghe said you loVed posies, and We must bring 
you some, ’cos you’re so good and kind to baby, 
and ’cos We loVed yer.” 

^^V^hat?” said (pJVliss Betsey, sharply. ^^I_fO\?ed 
me! ’(2os you lo\?ed me!” and she took doWn 
her arms from the high shelf, to which she Was 
reaching for a bottle of medicine, and came and 
picked the sick boy up in her arms and sat doWn 
in her loW rocking-chair, and held him close and 
rocked him back, and forth, and cried over him as 
if he Were a prodigal returned. 

Th en suddenly remembering his danger, she 
sat up, and shutting her mouth With a character- 
istic snap, she opened it again to call: ^^'Amos, 
Amos! Almiry |]ane, Almiry Dane!” Vtf'h ere- 
upon appeared simultaneously at the kitchen door 


41 


the hired rhan and the female ^^help,” who Was 
also the Wife of the hired man. 

^^Qsuick, Almiry! Don’t you see this child 
has got the croup? (2oin’ to be a bad spell 

too. Bnng in the old tin bathtub right here 

’fore the fire; and you^ Amos^ get the hot Water 
— quick! and then hurry aWay for the doctor. 
Bnng doWn the blankets, ^Imiry, and make a bed 
right here on the old settle. "And, look here, 

Amos,” as the man Was hastening from the room, 
^^you might as Well stop and tell his mother Bat- 
sey’s here With me, and I’ll take care of him to- 
night. Don’t you dare to say croup, or I’ll haVe 
the whole family up here to take care of, and 

likely as not the neW-fangled minister and his daugh- 
ter into the bargain.” 

Then, strange to say, the lonely Woman began 


42 


what she knew to be a hand-to-hand grapple With 
deaths With a fierce kind of pleasure that she had 
the child all to herself and all alone. It Was 
no light struggle^ and yet it Was not until after 
<Annos returned With the neWs that one of the two 
Burke doctors had gone to the city, and one had 
been called to attend a case in a neighboring 
town, that she recognized hoW dreadful it might be 
to have to fght it out alone. J\lot for a moment 
did she abate her efforts; but as the hours Wore 
on the feverish feeling that she Would save him — 
save him herself, and for herself and that he 
Would stay With her and loVe her as he had said 
he did — began to WaVer, and she felt that he 
must die. And if this Was so, then she had no 
right to hold him and loVe him, and to keep aWay 
the parents to whom he belonged. Better bar* 


43 


ness up, and dri\?e doWn and get his mother, 
9\mos,” she said, softly, lifting her eyes from the 
child’s face, that had grown so pinched and white 
after the last paro)Cysm. V^hen they dropped 
again his eyes Were open and foCed upon her With 
an appealing look. §he raised him tenderly. 

^^V^hat is it, dear little boy?” she said; do 
you Want mother? Well, <Amos Will go and 

get your mother. T’he child’s eyes pleaded 

still, looking straight into hers. ^^What is it, 

dear?” she said, her oWn eyes full of tears. 

Teacher! I Want my teacher,” he whis- 
pered. 

Por a moment the jealous dislike conquered 
her better nature — no, she Would not send for 
her. Th en the lids drooped, the cough began 

its terrible threat. @0 for JVI iss ©Ison too, 


44 


■Amos ; and go quick! ” she said sharply. 
Th en she stopped short. [f he Went there last, 
it might be that she Would not come in time ; 
then the lips shut once more on the bitterness and 
evil in the lonely, loving old heart, and she said : 

@0 for her first and bring her here, and then 
go back for his mother.” 

Then followed such a struggle as left no time 
for thinking of the Woman who, Betsey Berkins 
felt. Was stealing aWay the loVe of everything she 
held dear — before the door opened, and the tWo 
Were face to face. ©ne frightened, troubled look 
into the stern countenance before her, and then 
the poor boy stirred and opened his eyes, and at 
sight of the saint of his little heart’s Worship, 
lifted his hands and smiled. Por one moment 
Betsey held him close, as if she could neVer let 


45 


him go, and then gently laid him in JVIiss ©Ison’s 
arms, and turned aWay to the Window, in which 
the scarlet floWers Were all abloom. 
mocked her With their flaunting masses of color — 
the flowers she Would not give him only tWo days 
ago ! V\nd here Were his first JVlciy blossoms, 
and his half-droWned Violets in the tin 

pail he had brought, 
and there, by the fre, 
the little shriveled and 
^ twisted copper-toes that he 
Would not need in the golden streets his childish 
feet Were soon to tread. V\nd there Was the 
Sunday suit that she had told his mother he must 
^^saVe for Sunday, and make it last the whole 
long season through.” J^e might far better haVe 
Worn it eVery day. It might haVe kept the . chill 



46 


that had brought him doWn to death aWay from 
the tender flesh. <Ah! it Was terrible, this heart- 
breaking condemnation and remorse, that she, who 
loVed the little children so, should not haVe made 
him happy when she could. 

‘And meantime, there he lay, the damp rings 
of his curly hair against his teacher s soft young 
cheek, her loW Voice soothing him tenderly, and 
his eyes fnCed lovingly on her. Suddenly he 
whispered, V^here is she?’’ 

calls you, JMiss Perkins,” said the 


teacher. 

She came slowly, white and tearless and still, 
and the boy put up his hands and smoothed her 
Wrinkled face. 

Patsey loVes you,” he said, softly. 

^^But 1 killed you; 1 did it myself 1 


47 


Wouldn’t let him Wear his Warm suit; I Wouldn’t 
let him haVe my floWers, and he Went aWay into 
the Woods and got his death.” 

^^J\Io; no,” whispered jj^elen; ‘Mt Was I, and 
not you at all. I sent him for the floWers. ^e 
Would never haVe gone but for me. I did it, JVliss 
Betsey, and not you,” and she reached up her 
hand, and the old Woman sank on her knees be- 
side the dvinq child, whose qaze Went loVinqly 

QJ q) * <i) Qy <2/ 

from face to face. Th en suddenly the eyelids 
drooped, and With one hand on Betsey’s neck he 
lay still, so still that J^elen held her sobs in 
check. [n perfect silence they Waited, Watching 
the pallid face, when softly the strained lines re- 
la^ed, and the breath began to come more easily, 
and their eyes met With a great thankfulness shin- 
ing through their tears; little [?atsey Was fast asleep. 


48 


Pop an hour they sat, hushed, breathless, 
and never loosing each others hand. In that 



hour the older Woman saW the gentle girl before 
her in a neW and loving light, that showed her as 
she Was and not as she had seemed to the brood- 


49 


ing and morbid fancies of an oVer-jealous heart. 
In that hour J^elen saW in the Woman whose life 
seemed nearly done, such a poWer of loVe and 
service and devotion as made the old face beauti- 
ful, and Warmed her heart toward the dreaded 
sister of the man she had learned to loVe. 

JMuch died in each soul that solemn night- 
hour, while they Watched together the death 
shadow slowly give place to the look of returning 
life in the face of the little child. V^hen the 
wheels of “Amos’ Wagon Were heard, Betsey stole 
softly out. 

is asleep, JV|rs. Bi^ycm, but safe and 
going to get Well. (2ome in and go to bed and 
rest. 1 promise you he shall be Well;” and 
then from behind her mother J\lorah crept, and 
getting both her arms around JMiss Betsey’s neck, 


50 


she' hugged her, and cried and cried, and kissed 
her, till JMiss Betsey found herself holding her 

almost as tightly as she had held the boy. 

Was aWake and mother didn’t like me to 
come ; but, oh ! JVl iss Betsey, ] couldn’t stay be- 
hind, and Batsey sick and me not here.” 

^^J\fo, no, child, 1 am glad you came; but 

now you must let ^Imiry Dane put you in my 
bed, and in the morning you shall see your little 
brother*” 

^^nd when this Was done and JV|iss Betsey 
Was going to steal aWay, J\ orah too raised her 

arms and put them round the scraWny neck and 

said, loVe you.” ^nd downstairs, when the 
teacher Went stealing aWay in the early dimness 
of the daWn, before she Went she said, ^^JMiss 
Betsey, after this 1 shall always loVe you. 


51 


<Ancl before l^atsey’s mother Went back to her 
Washtub and her baby, she said, ^‘And indade, 
ma’am, it’s Wid good rayson too, that iviry one of 
the Brycins lo\?es ye.” And later in the day, 
when the train brought her great strong brother 
^orace home for the Easter Vacation, and he 
stood in the porch before starting for the parson- 
age, he said, Pact is, Betsey, you haVe been 
a mother to me, and more and more 1 loVe you.” 

So here it Was, loVe on eVery side, and for 
her too, who had thought that she Was so old that 
life Was barren of loVe. ^ 

born out of the old death that had been in her 
heart; a resurrection of promise and hope and 
cheer; a rising from the dead of the tender hu- 
man sympathy that had so long been locked Within 
her soul as in a rocky tomb. 


52 


eHo Wonder she felt that it Was possible, With- 
out popery, to celebrate the Easter day; no Won- 
der she stripped her Windows bare of floWers and 
gave them all to Eatsey to give to his teacher, 
who said to him: 

^^IDo you remember 1 told you there Would be 
a plenty of Easter floWers, and that a good angel 
Would bring you some to give to me? JNIoW, 
who has been the good Easter angel, Eatsey?” 

Eor a moment he looked puzzled, and then 
burst out with a laugh, V^hy, JMiss Betsey 
Eerki ns! the angel, it be she.” 


1 knew thou Wert coming, © Eord Divine, 

1 felt in the sunlight a softened shine, 

^nd a murmur of Welcome | thought I heard 
In the* ripple of brooks and the chirp of bird. 


53 


1 knew thou Wert coming, @ LoVe I|)i\?ine, 
To gather the World’s heart up to thine; 

1 know the bonds of the rock-heWn grave 
V^ere riVen, that living thy life might saVe. 


But, blind and WayWard, [ could not se 
'Thou Wert coming to dwell With me, e’en me. 
'And my heart — o’erburdened With care and sin— 
j^ad no fair chambers to take thee in. 

J\lot one clean spot for thy foot to tread 
J\lot one pure pilloW to rest thy head; 

There Was nothing to offer, no bread, no Wine, 
J\Io oil of joy in this heart of mine; 


And yet the light of thy kingly face 
Illumed for thyself a small, dark place; 

And 1 crept to the spot by thy smile made sWeet, 
And the tears came ready to Wash thy feet 


54 


J\IoW let me come nearer, © (Christ liivine, 
JVlcike in my soul for thyself a shrine; 
©leanse, till the desolate place shall be 
Pit for a dwelling, dear Lford, for thee. 

Rear, if thou wilt, a throne in my breast, 
Reign, 1 Will Worship and serve my ©uest. 
V^hile thou art in me — and in thee I abide— 
Vi^hat end can there be to the paster-tide ? 




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